Drowning
by sparkycola1
Summary: Sherlock Holmes would never take air for granted again.


**Title**: Drowning  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Second film SH:AGOS  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Sherlock Holmes would never take air for granted again.

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><p>He didn't notice when he broke under the surface. It had all blurred into one- air had turned to water seamlessly and he never felt the impact he expected - it was just that one moment it was gravity pulling him down, and the next it was the weight of water pushing him down.<p>

He was completely disoriented, he couldn't work out if his eyes were open or closed, whether the water was hot or cold, whether he was being pushed down quickly or slowly. He had taken a deep breath what seemed like an eternity ago, and now his lungs ached with a desire to let it go and breathe in new air. But there was no air - just water - and air was a frighteningly long way away. And still he was being forcibly pushed down...deeper and deeper, further and further away from the air. He panicked. Struggled against nothing, struggled to stop going down and to go up - up to air, to life.

The overwhelming need to _breathe_ fought against the panic-stricken fear of inhaling water, drowning, which in turn fought against the fear of suffocating to death. In a moment of clarity he knew he would pass out if he didn't get oxygen soon. In that same moment he recognised the presence, in his hand, of the very thing he sought so desperately. This was considerably harder than he'd imagined it would be.

For all his genius, for all his courage, it was the one thing that he shared with all animals on this earth that saved his life. It was the deep-seated instinct to _live, _to survive, that brought that device to his mouth and pressed the button and _life...!_

He would never take air for granted again.

He pressed the button more and more, trying to control his breathing but his lungs were on fire for air and his muscles needed oxygen to find their way back to the surface. Sensation returned to him, it was freezing, dangerously so. It was very dark. The force pushing him down was lessening as he freed himself from the base of the waterfall and was pulled out to the edge with the current. His thoughts cleared and he navigated the long, diagonal journey towards the surface, and eventually broke free to find the sacred, glorious _air._

He recalled his ability to swim but it was so cold his limbs were stiff and didn't do as commanded. His desire not to go underwater again kept him afloat in a graceless, clumsy form of paddling. With so much physical exertion it was difficult to calm his breathing or himself, but he needed his eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness as far as possible. Night had not completely fallen, and through water-blurred vision he saw blood around him. He felt the sting of cuts and gashes, felt bruises all over, stabbing pain in his shoulder and wondered that he hadn't felt any of those injuries until now - having been so wholly focussed on breathing. He caught a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye and remembered that he was far from safe. Moriarty was here too.

He turned to see more clearly and to think of some sort of plan, but realised it was not Moriarty, but a boat, moving as close to the waterfall as it dared. His brother stood with a lamp, searching. With the adrenaline that came with knowing one was nearly safe, he swam towards the boat and was hauled inelegantly over the edge as shots rang out.

They all flattened to the deck and he met the uncharacteristically readable eyes of his brother Mycroft - that spoke of sheer, desperate relief at finding his brother alive, unmasked warmth. For the second time tonight he'd locked eyes with someone, and found an expression he would never forget. Then he looked past his brother to the dead body of Professor Moriarty. He was too tired to feel relief, much less triumph. Anyway, when he'd hurled them off that balcony he had hurled them to fate- and he had accepted whatever outcome she chose at precisely that point. So just at this moment, he felt oddly indifferent. He didn't know if the shooting ever ceased. Long before the boat reached the shoreline, long before Mycroft and his team of agents carried him to a safe place where he could recuperate, he had passed out into a deep sleep, and dreamed of a moment frozen in blue eyes that said _don't leave me_ and the rhythm of falling to a single thought: _I'm sorry...I'm sorry._

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><p>Sorry...might have been a bit weird... I just had to get that out of my system because, funnily enough, I nearly drowned in a waterfall once (seriously). I couldn't recommend it...<p> 


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